


Scene From A Moste Secluded Nooke At A Party During London's Season

by QueanBysshe



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cunnilingus, Cuntboys, Fingering, M/M, My signature wicked dom Aziraphale, Oral Sex, Period-accurate sex terms are my Thiiiiing, Regency, Romance, Sub!Crowley - Freeform, Trans Male Characters, Wing Kink, Wings, dom!Aziraphale, handjobs, period language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 23:00:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18291962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueanBysshe/pseuds/QueanBysshe
Summary: Fromthis ideaby Tinsnip, who said I could write on it.





	Scene From A Moste Secluded Nooke At A Party During London's Season

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tinsnip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinsnip/gifts).



> From [this idea](http://tinsnip.tumblr.com/post/183809502414) by Tinsnip, who said I could write on it.

‘My dear.’

Crowley made a low noise in his throat which might have been, in later centuries, called a purr, and briefly stopped kissing Aziraphale’s warm belly. ‘ ‘s?’ he said, the sibilant hissing rather too well for a mortal tongue, before going back to kisses—hot, open-mouthed, _sinfully wicked_ kisses, that thrilled him to the tips of his primary feathers, especially when Aziraphale was stroking the join of wing and shoulder.

‘My dear, I need you to _think_ ,’ Aziraphale said, without ceasing his caresses. Bastard.

‘Can’t, with you doing that.’

‘I need you to _try_ and think,’ Aziraphale said, his voice scaling down a few more notches, and Crowley’s toes curled in his very shiny, very well-fitted boots. The tightness of the nankeen over his thighs wasn’t helping. They’d had to manifest _something_ that looked like genitalia over the past few decades, and Crowley was _very_ sure that Aziraphale was enjoying it far too much—at least, insomuch as it meant he could torment _Crowley_. Aziraphale was, somehow, always managing to not look as uncomfortable as Crowley felt, and had sharpened the wit of their mutual friend George to dizzying levels. Levels that made Crowley’s eyes go a bit green, to be honest.

‘Were you thinking of cock or cunt tonight, Crowley, dear?’ Aziraphale went on, oblivious to Crowley’s wandering thoughts. _Bastard._

‘Because, my dear,’ Aziraphale went on, fingers wandering to the sensitive space between the base of Crowley’s wings. ‘I would very much like that _clever_ tongue of yours to flick inside my quim. I rather miss it,’ he said, pursing too-pretty lips. ‘And it’s really been _so_ long,’ he was starting to really put the pressure on, and Crowley was hissing—it was a luxury both of them had enjoyed since the mid 1200s, Crowley being so _quiet_ while being sodomised, ‘since you had my fingers in your cunt, isn’t it, my dear?’

Crowley was a _puddle_ by this time, already dripping and soaking his inexpressibles with the nectar of said cunt, and the scent of Aziraphale’s arousal, musky and tangy, suddenly filled his _face_ , and he could not but press his face down between Aziraphale’s lush thighs, whimpering at the fabric separating his lips from his angel’s. Bastard, Bastard, _**Bastard**_.

They didn’t bother undressing the way humans did, there was no fun in it. Aziraphale laughed the soft laugh only Crowley ever heard—the _Wicked_ one, the (how lovely that there was a word for it now!) _Sadistic_ one, as Crowley reacted to there suddenly _not_ being fabric between him and Aziraphale by _burying_ his face in those golden, honey-soaked curls covering the soft lips of venus, and part them with his tongue—his _real_ tongue—and hear Aziraphale’s breath catch, and his fingers tighten in Crowley’s feathers, and _pull_ Crowley nearer, pressing his hips into Crowley’s face, spreading his thighs.

Crowley enjoyed when the angel yanked him around, the spark of pain pulling his feathers was perfect, so perfect, he so _loved_ his wings being abused like that, by his angel… he flicked out his tongue, licking at the furled not-phallus, sucking the not-foreskin between his lips, his tongue finding its way beneath, to the sensitive, pink pearl hidden in the oyster. Aziraphale inhaled sharply through his gorgeous nose, and nearly Blasphemed, but didn’t.

Crowley set to work trying to make him, _tormenting_ Aziraphale’s pearl, sliding one long finger into his cunt, curling it in a come-hither that made the angel let out breath in a shaking sigh, always so quiet, so careful, squeezing his hands where they gripped Crowley’s wings to telegraph his feelings. Crowley added another finger, and Aziraphale’s hips started to ride down on them, back and forth, and Crowley felt those hands start to _knead_ at his wings. Not low enough to make _Crowley_ go into paroxysm, but good all the same.

‘Good boy,’ Aziraphale murmured, and Crowley hissed in his throat, unable to help himself, eyes closing at the praise. ‘Good boy, my good boy,’ Aziraphale continued murmuring, the lack of sibilants making it _very_ quiet, indeed. ‘Go on, my dear,’ he urged, breathless and flushed. Crowley knew he was close, then, and hastened the movement of his paired fingers, both soaked from Aziraphale, the precious liquid dripping down Crowley’s hand and into his sleeve like liquid sunshine.

‘Ah-h good boy, good boy. Oh, oh my _dear—!’_

Crowley drank deep from the well of Virtue, and came from it.

**Author's Note:**

> ** Glossary **
> 
> **Inexpressibles** \- trousers (pants if you're American). This is the Regency, so trousers are a very new invention, and the tightness of them is extremely scandalous--so much so that they can't be spoken of by name.
> 
>  **Nankeen** \- A sort of pale buff-coloured cotton fabric. It's considered 'flesh' coloured, in this period.
> 
>  _"They’d had to manifest **something** that looked like genitalia over the past few decades...."_ \- Most of the latter 1700s and the Regency saw men wearing trousers that were so tight you could see their genitalia clearly, and many writings reference how you could tell a man's mood, because they were so snug. So, you kind of _have_ to have them, if you have a corporeal form, or people can easily spot you're inhuman.
> 
> [Come say hi!](https://discord.gg/Mvygfnn%22)


End file.
